Oldest Of Three
by Ocarona
Summary: Sophie Hatter is the oldest of three sisters. In the land of Ingary, that's a very unfortunate thing to be. But now a happily married woman, Sophie has no time for misfortune. It seems however, that it has plenty of time for her. Something very dark has come to Market Clipping, and it brings a secret that could very well tear Sophie's family apart.
1. Prologue: The Story Begins Again

AN: This fanfiction is based on both the Studio Ghibli movie and the book by Diana Wynn Jones. I do not own either. If you have not read the book, I very much suggest you do so, as this work of fiction will seem very confusing to you. If you have not seen the anime, then how in earth did you end up _here_?

 **Prologue**

The story begins again.

Sophie Hatter had long ago excepted the fact that as the oldest of three sisters, she was doomed to fail.  
Since the moment her youngest sister Martha had entered the world, letting out a bellow of outrage that should have forewarned her delighted parents of the temper tantrums to come, Sophie begrudgingly resigned herself to her fate.  
Of course, she could never say she was not loved. Her father and step mother loved and cared for her as fiercely as they did their other daughters. But in small ways, they too had accepted Sophie's misfortune as the eldest, and did not try particularly hard to change it.

One memorable example was the day of the harvest festival when Sophie was eight years old. As a treat, Mr Hatter had travelled to Kingsbury to buy four beautiful dresses for his four beautiful girls.  
Mrs Hatters' dress was a stunning faded yellow, adorned with tiny jewels across the bodice and trimmed with lace so delicate it caught reflected the sunlight as she moved. Martha, now a chubby cheeked four year old, was given a dress of brilliant red. The skirt and sleeves so layered with ruffles and ribbons the small child was almost swallowed by it, not that she minded. Everyone who saw the little girl that day declared her to be the most beautiful child in all of Ingary.

Lettie, the second oldest daughter, was given a dress of sapphire blue. To match her eyes, her father had told her with pride. The soft material had been enchanted to change colours, lightening to a sea-foam green when touched by candlelight and deepening to an almost impenetrable midnight blue when she walked under star light. The magic used to enchant the dress delighted the girl more than the dress itself.

Sophie's dress was grey.

It had been styled for just her, cut to the very latest fashions, the fabric so soft it fell over her body like silk, but it was still grey. It did not have ruffles or ribbons. There was only the smallest bit of lace sewn into the high collar.  
That day, Sophie had been unable to hide her disappointment, the small pang of jealously she had felt as she watched her sisters twirl in front of her in their beautiful dresses. She was quick to mask her emotions when her father glanced her way.  
Mr Hatter was immensely proud of the choices he had made when buying the dresses, the delight on his face as he watched his family so heart-warming that Sophie had pushed aside her disappointment and jealously, and embraced him as enthusiastically as her sisters and step-mother had.

His lovely wife should always shine, he had said. She deserved to walk around adorned in the sunlight she had brought into his life when she agreed to marry him.

His little baby, his little Martha, well she was a beautiful summer rose. So vibrant and full of life, she deserved to be seen and admired by all in the country.

Lettie was his dreamer. Her eyes so full of curiosity and wonder he knew that she could capture the stars one day if she wanted to. All she had to do was reach out and grab one.

And Sophie, his sweet, dependable Sophie. Always so practical. Always so ready to step in and help others. With his large hands on her shoulders, Mr Hatter had looked upon his eldest child with doting affection, and perhaps a small amount of regret.  
He had told her that day that she was wonderful. She was magnificent. She was strong, and lovely, and confident. He had given her a grey dress because it was durable. It was easily cleaned, and blended in easily with the rest of the world. It did not draw the eye, nor did it deserve to be ignored. Grey was a good colour. A sturdy colour. A colour suitable for a girl such as Sophie.

Even at eight years old, Sophie had understood what her father was telling her. She was beautiful to him. She was perfect to him. She could be anything she wanted to be, but he felt that maybe she shouldn't try. Perhaps in his own way, Mr Hatter was trying to protect Sophie from the life of disappointments he knew she would have to endure.

She was not a sunlight yellow, or a vibrant red, or an enchanted blue. She was a perfectly plain, acceptable grey.

As the years passed, Sophie grew to accept her shade, and convince herself it was quite acceptable to be grey.  
So no one was more surprised than her when, with the arrival of a reputable yet egotistical witch, Sophie's grey life was suddenly spirited into a world of colour. She was abruptly thrown into a world that burnt red with magical fire, touched her skin with hues of crystalline blue, dazzled her with shades of gold that darkened to pink then to a stunning black, and the very stars fell from skies stained a brilliant and magical purple.

In those flashes of colour, Sophie had used up a lifetime. Quite literally. She had been swept off her feet as an elderly woman far passed her prime, and when the moment came where she willingly gave up her heart, her life, to hold onto the rapid flashes of colour she had grown to love, she had been a girl of only eighteen.  
As it was, her plain life took such a drastic turn, that it was not until long after her feet landed on solid ground, her decent carefully cushioned by the enigmatic wizard she had fallen in love with, that Sophie thought to question _why_.

The eldest of three was always met with misfortune. It was such a well known and accepted affliction that it was mentioned with the same casual indifference that one might use when discussing the weather. If one were to hear a whisper of gossip about an oldest sibling who had tried, and failed, to accomplish something, it was met with the correct amount of pity and sympathy. But also with the off handed thought that it was bound to happen eventually.

The oldest of three curse was so unanimously accepted, that even people who had known Sophie her entire life would be both astounded and sceptical that she had found happiness. Of course they were delighted for her, told her how proud they were of her, but behind closed doors they whispered about the _oddness_ of it all. Had the Wizard cast a spell on her to protect her from the bad fortune that was rightly hers to claim? Was it something that could be cast away with magic?  
Perhaps, the whisperers said, Sophie was not in fact the oldest sibling? Maybe her recently remarried mother was expecting a babe? Even if that were true, others thought, that still wouldn't make sense. For Sophie was still the oldest sibling until the baby was born, and the curse should still be on her.  
As one year moved into another, and the news of Sophie Hatters marriage to Howl Pendragon swept through the country, the whisperers decided that the only thing that made any sense was the fact young Sophie was married to a wizard.

Magic could really do wondrous things, they all decided.

Sophie whole-heartedly agreed. If it was thanks to her husbands magic that her world was no longer painted in shades of grey, then she would thank the very heavens for magic. But sometimes, during the long nights where she would lay in her husbands arms, listening to the rhythmic sounds of his breathing, that Sophie allowed herself to wonder, the faintest traces of unease brushing her heart. A deeply embedded fear that had been born the same moment her little sister had. On those nights she would cuddle closer to Howl's side. Smiling as he instinctively drew her closer to him in his sleep. Under the glow of soft moonlight, Sophie would brush a strand of dark hair from her husbands face, or wrap her arms around his stomach and nuzzle herself as close to him as she dared.

Was there really any escape from the curse that came from being the oldest of three?


	2. Prologue Part 2: These Things Take Time

**Prologue: Part Two**

These Things Take Time.

Eventually, as time went on, people from all over Ingary mostly forgot about the peculiarity that was Sophie Hatter.

Even though almost a full year had passed since the war had ended, it was taking time to rebuild. Market Clipping had been the worst hit during the terrible battle. And curiously so. It was almost as if, the strong young men who had volunteered to clear up the rubble thought, someone had been deliberately drawing the worst of the battle towards the small town. The damage was to centred, to clustered into one place to be the work of a war ship. Warheads fell in lines, following the direction the ship that housed them took.  
It was so very unusual, the men said, for every bomb to fall in one place. It was also unusual how the pretty flower shop in the centre of town seemed to have been barely damaged. The shops on either side had been reduced to rubble. Piles of misshapen brick and iron jutting from the charred ground in a weak imitation of how the buildings used to be.  
Although, one whiskered face man told his friends during the afternoon break, the little flower shop had probably been spared thanks to some cosmic intervention that liked irony. The flowers sold in that shop were particularly beautiful. And now, more than ever, did Market Clipping need something beautiful. The man's companions murmured their agreement, casting shadowed gazes over what had once been the town centre.

Craters the size of small mansions littered the ground, so deep that they turned into miniature lakes dotted across the landscape, filling almost to the edges when the rain came.

The huge black steam train that had once puffed its way happily past the old hat shops back window was now a solid pile of twisted metal. So savage was the raw fire and heat that had engulfed it, it barely resembled the proud locomotive it had once been. Now it stood like an iron sentinel, a twisting, writhing mass of melted metal and blackened ore. A grotesque yet fitting tribute to a town that would never fully recover from the effects of a rich man's war.  
It was hard and arduous work. Clearing the debris, burying those who were lost to the fires then found in the rubble, and attempting to reclaim some semblance of normality. Many of the towns inhabitants had returned home the moment they deemed it safe too. Those who had relatives in less impacted parts of the lands did not come back at all. Choosing to simply leave their pasts behind them and start anew.

Martha Hatter had returned even before the others, determined to reunite with her betrothed and her sister. Using the same cunning that had allowed her to successfully trade places with her sister Lettie all those months ago, she had convinced a surly tempered farmer to let her ride in the back on his wagon to the misty mountains above Market Clipping. Then, feigning a sudden and excruciatingly painful twisted ankle, she tricked him into bringing her all the way down to the town. The gentleman was so concerned about her injury he had dropped her off directly next to the stairway that lead up to the flower shop. He had even offered to carry her up the steps.

In ordinary circumstances, Martha would have felt extremely guilty about her trickery. Despite his quick temper and growling attitude, he was a very sweet man, if a little simple. She had decided that she would give him what little funds she had in her purse as payment and express her deepest gratitude when they arrived. That had been her plan, until half way down the winding dirt road that bordered the outskirts of the town.

It was at this point that the man had decided to take her to his house instead. His son was just about her age, he told her, and a pretty little thing needed a strong farm boy to take care of her. It did not matter to him that she was already betrothed to another, he laughed with a deep confidence when he said his son would easily beat whoever came for her in a fist fight. It was only after she had lectured him for a full fifteen minutes and casually told him that her intended was the apprentice to _the_ Wizard Howl that he decided his son probably wouldn't like her as a wife. His pallor had stayed an alarming shade of pale as they had driven down towards the town centre. And whilst it was nice of him to offer to carry her up the steps, Martha had known it was only out of fear of the great Wizard that he did so.

Her reunion with Michael had been both an emotional and comical one. She had barely stepped onto the pavement when, with an alarmingly loud crash and a whoop of delight, Michael had been beside her. One second she was carefully checking where it was safe to tread, the next she was being spun around in the air. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Martha soon found herself laughing with him. All she could do was hold on as she was lifted and span around in dizzying circles. When she was finally let down, she forgot all about being proper, and leant up on her toes to kiss him. That was when Sophie had come outside and Martha was being spun around again. She was startled that she received the same genuinely happy welcome from Howl. By the time the little group made it into the flower shop, Martha was so dizzy that Michael had to hold her up. The two of them so overwhelmed with happiness and joy they had somehow forgotten to be embarrassed about being caught sharing their first kiss.

Time passed quickly after that. For the next few weeks, as spring warmed and began to make promises of a warm summer, Market Clipping began to return to normal. Thanks to Howl, nearly all of the debris was cleared away during those first few weeks, even though it was a difficult process as his magical abilities had been somewhat weakened after the return of his heart. But as the days got longer, he seemed to become stronger.  
By the first day of summer, the town had regained enough of its former bluster that the residents deemed it safe enough to reopen the market square. Vendors seemed to appear from the shadows, delighted to be back where they felt the most comfortable, selling their wares and shouting for customers.

Martha went back to work in Cesari's bakery, seeming to be on a mission to make enough pastries and cakes to feed the entire town. And although no one had mentioned it, or had even made the suggestion, not one person paid for their wears that day. Bread and fish were given freely, any attempt at payment pushed away. Cakes and cookies were placed on easily accessible tables, with a notice that they were free of charge and must be shared. The taverns made do with fire scarred tables and half broken chairs as they opened their doors to all.

As the day began to end, the daylight dipping to a tinted red that promised the return of the sun the next day, Michael convinced Howl to help him enchant paper lanterns with heat-less fire, and let them drift free above the market square, illuminated the area with tiny balls of gold and white. It was then he tracked down Martha, dragging her with him to the centre of the enchanted lanterns, and in front of everyone in view, dropped to one knee made his claim known. He asked her to marry him.

The cheer that went up from the watching crowd when she said yes could have been heard in Port Haven.

The first day of summer after the war would be remembered for a long time. Particularly in Market Clipping. For the first time since the battle had officially ended, there was peace. Children went to sleep with full stomachs and had happy dreams, husbands held onto their wives with a relaxed relief, those same wives – having been inspired by the romantic engagement of Michael and Martha – announced to their husbands they wanted to have more children.

Inside the carefully hidden castle, Howl and Sophie retired to bed. Martha was given Sophie's old bedroom, and rather grumpily went to bed herself. Michael still had his own room, and only his fear of Sophie's magical walking stick, and a fire demons promise to sound an alarm if his door handle so much as twitched, kept him from sneaking out for a midnight rendezvous with his blushing lady.

Unfortunately, it was on that warm peaceful night that the first dark cloud made itself known to the Jenkins family. With an unusual darkness, a gust of cold wind and the peculiar scent of burnt almonds, the stranger arrived in Market Clipping.


End file.
